


Cats and Dogs

by Golddisaster



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golddisaster/pseuds/Golddisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of ongoing drabbles mostly based around F1's best rivals/begrudging friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Borne Back Into the Past

"You're magnificent." James said sarcastically, hands in the pockets of his jumpsuit, one bare foot crossed over the other as he leaned against the oil-stained wall of the McLaren garage. The red-clad Austrian stormed towards him, fists clenched, eyes narrowed.  
"And you're a dickhead." Niki replied with genuine animosity, tearing the baclava off his face, upper lip curled, exposing his teeth. His face was crimson, a mix of fury and exhaustion from the qualifying rounds. The mechanics in the garage looked over their shoulders, attention turned away from the beat-up McLaren and towards its driver.  
"What? It's not my fault you were slow in qualifying this time around." James replied with a smirk, enjoying the sight seeing Niki's face somehow turn even redder. He loved getting a rise out of the normally collected Austrian, it felt like an accomplishment.  
"Fuck you!" Niki exclaimed. "We both know that you can't start for shit James, what the hell are you doing in pole position?" Niki growled, getting into James's face the best he could without getting on the tips of his toes.  
"Being faster than you, Ratty, that's what I'm doing." James said with a smug smile. Niki looked towards the ceiling of the pits, taking a step back from James, taking a deep breath, sucking on his teeth, like he was want to do when he was thinking.  
"Fine then. We'll see who's faster." Niki said evenly, some of the redness leaving his face. He gave James one more glare over his shoulder as he walked back towards the Ferrari pits, tugging the tan balaclava back over his face.  
"See you on the track!" James yelled, waving to him.  
"Fich dich arsloch!" Niki yelled back, flipping James off as he skulked back to the Ferrari pit.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Niki sat outside the McLaren garage, stirring the small cup of yogurt that served as his lunch for that day. As he ate a spoonful, he could faintly hear a pattering sound to his right, like someone was running towards him. He looked up and to the right, spotting a figure in a black jumpsuit rushing towards the pits. Niki blinked and narrowed his eyes, straining to see. Then, he spotted the yellow helmet clutched tightly in the man's hand. Right, Senna. No mistaking that helmet. The young Brazilian came to a hard-stop beside him, panting, bent over at the waist. Ayrton swallowed hard and looked up at Niki, still panting.  
"Niki?" Ayrton asked, dark eyes searching the other pits frantically.  
"Yes?" Niki replied, sitting up straighter. He'd never seen Senna like this, the young man had a good head on his shoulders, Niki couldn't imagine what could have gotten him into this state.  
"Have you seen Prost?" Ayrton continued, standing up straighter and looking around.  
"No. Why?" Niki asked.  
"He wants to punch me." Senna elaborated.  
"Ayrton, Prost always wants to punch you." Niki said, settling down a bit, relaxing his posture. "Just as much as you want to punch him."  
"No, he means it! He wants to get back at me for the race." Senna exclaimed, twisting around to look behind him.  
"You're overre-" Niki started to say, when there was a commotion from a few pits down. He could hear shouting. French shouting.  
"I-" But Senna was long gone, sprinting across the Ferrari and Lotus pits. He practically vaulted over one of the black-and-gold Lotus chassis, dodging around a bewildered mechanic. Curly-haired Prost chased after him not a few seconds later, a red blur, screaming French obscenities at Senna. Niki shook his head and returned to his yogurt, eating another spoonful when a voice interrupted him-  
"Did you catch all that?" British, incredibly casual, that could only be one man. Hunt.  
Niki looked up at James, spoon still in his mouth. James was in his usual news-casting attire, blazer, slacks, and shirt open far further than Niki cared to see. The Austrian nodded, placing the spoon in the cup.  
"Yes. Aren't you glad we weren't like that?" Niki asked James, jerking a thumb towards the general direction of one of the March pits, where Prost had chased Senna. Niki thought he heard a distant yelp. James gave Niki a wide-eyed look, mouth slightly agape.  
"...What?" Niki asked, putting a hand on his hip.  
"What do you mean we weren't like that? I distinctly remember you trying to take a knee to my groin in, what was it? Kylami?" James said in disbelief. Niki shook his head.  
"That was one time," Niki said, holding up a finger. "And you deserved it. You nearly got us killed going into a corner, asshole."  
"Of course I did." James said with a roll of his eyes. Niki shot James a look, one James recognized all too well, with Niki giving him a slight glare and a set of his jaw that said "Get over yourself". James complied, putting up his hands in a pacifying manner.  
"I mean that we didn't hate each other. Unlike those two." Niki continued, eating another spoonful of yogurt.  
"Well, most of the time." James said with a grin. Niki shrugged and gave a small nod, the right side of his mouth twitching up a bit.  
"Most of the time." He conceded.


	2. It's Easy to Be Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble about James at the Nürburgring, because apparently I love torturing myself.

James could hardly hear the announcers over his engine, he felt something inside him drop as he barely made out:

“Accident… Ferrari…”. His breathing became more shallow as he rounded the turn, and almost instantly hit his breaks, swinging his car to the right, nearly clipping Deprallier’s Tyrell as he came to a screeching halt. His brakes gave out a kind of menacing hiss as he slowly released the pedal, looking at the sight before him. Cars were splayed out in front of him, all nearly blocking the road, all stopped hurriedly as evidenced by the tyre streaks. He saw people up ahead, some helmeted, some not. He saw smoke. James got out of his car slowly, feeling something cold creeping through his bones. He walked through the rows of abandoned cars, taking off his helmet and tearing off his balaclava. He hadn’t realized how fast he was breathing. He got to the edge of the circle, as people turned their heads to look at him. They all looked somber, sorry, and wouldn’t look at him for long.

“James…” Someone said quietly from behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He barely recognized the voice through the thudding in his ears, but no one else had that accent. Jody.

“Jody, what happened? What happened to one of the Ferraris?” James demanded breathlessly. James saw Jody’s eyes glance to the side, and stay there, the fabric of his balaclava scrunching as he furrowed his brow. James scanned the silent crowd, and felt his heart stop. Clay was there. Niki wasn’t.

“Oh fuck,” James croaked out, voice breaking, pulling away from Jody,

“James, don’t-!” Jody tried to yell after him as James pushed through the crowd, wild-eyed, heart racing. He stopped at the inner ring of drivers, face falling. John Watson was on the grass, head in between his legs, hands braced on the back of his helmet, gloved fingers digging into the smooth surface. James could barely see something red on his gloves. In front of him was a patch of grass that had been pressed down, like someone had been lying there. A few feet away, Arturo Merzario sat with his back to them all, balancing on the balls of his feet, shoulders hunched. Brett Lunger had taken off his helmet, burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. James tried to keep his eyes on them, but he couldn’t avoid the monstrous thing that lay in the corner of his eye. James barely turned his head and bit his lip to keep from crying out.

“Oh fuck.” James whispered, covering his mouth with his hand. The Ferrari was nearly unrecognizable, it was charred and warped by fire. He could see impact dents, crippling the side of the car and the front wing. But what wasn’t impossible to make out, was the name on the side of the chassis. That looping, brush-like script that both of the Ferraris used. The once pristine white words had been turned black and gray, but James recognized them immediately. _Niki Lauda_. James teared his eyes away from the wreck, feeling bile rising in his throat. He noticed something behind John, sitting beside him. James walked away from the car, circling John. As James walked in front of him and felt his stomach rise against him again. Niki's blood-red helmet sat there, in very much the same state of the car, but it should have been with Niki. Did that mean-? James forced himself to take a deep breath, cutting the thought off, closing his eyes tightly.

"I was going to warn you." Jody sighed, coming to stand beside James. He'd taken his helmet and balaclava off, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. James somehow managed a half-hearted snort.

"I appreciate that Jody but... what the hell could you have told me?" James asked, opening his eyes to look at him. Jody opened his mouth, glancing at the wrecked Ferrari, back to James, and then closed his mouth, pursing his lips. 

"Well, that he's alive." Jody said. James' head snapped up, eyes widening.

"He is?" James asked, disbelieving. Jody nodded. 

"He was talking to John before the ambulance got here." Jody said a little lower, glancing at the distraught Watson. James let out a sigh, feeling some invisible weight lift off his chest. 

"That's... good." James managed to say, swallowing a lump in his throat, staring at the wreck. "That's..." James sighed, shaking his head. There was nothing he could say, not anymore. Jody squeezed James' shoulder, his hand dropping away, as they both stared at their livelihood, what could have been them, and what was now Niki's reality. 

 


	4. Speak Of Me As I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a Tumblr prompt, it grew on me and I liked it too much to not post it. Also WOW I never thought I'd update this again tbh.

James should have known that something was up at Ferrari when he didn’t see Carlos anywhere during practice, never mind how everyone in the Ferrari garage looked nervous every time he happened to walk by, noticing how they relaxed out of the corner of his eye as he walked away.

James realized why they were nervous that afternoon.

At first he thought he was hallucinating, the heat of the Italian summer messing with his head, as he saw a familiar shape, standing over one of the Ferraris, distorted by the waves of heat emanating off the track. James blinked, squinting, as the figure walked away from the car, and back to the Ferrari garage. Jochen looked on from beside James, the both of them watching the man in disbelief. James refused to get his hopes up, but the way the man carried himself, James knew it wasn’t Carlos, or Clay.  
It had to be Niki.    
“Is that…?” Jochen asked, looking between him and James.  
“It can’t be.” James said, more to himself than Jochen as he took off after the figure, beelining for the Ferrari garage. James let out a frustrated sigh as he saw Niki disappear into the depths of the garage, as he started walking more quickly, until he felt someone grab his arm, hard. James turned to see Clay, the Swiss man giving him a stern look.  
“Clay, let me g-” James started to say, before Clay interrupted him.  
“He doesn’t want to see you.” Clay said firmly, trying to pull James back. James stared at Clay like he’d just kicked him in the gut. He may as well have.  
“He… you’re lying. He wouldn’t say that.” James said, glaring at Clay. He looked over his shoulder desperately, catching sight of Niki pulling off his helmet slowly.  
“Niki!” James yelled. Niki paused, making James’ heart lift for a moment, only to be crushed as Niki turned away from him and Clay, walking away as he pulled his balaclava off. James felt something hot rise in his chest, and he tore his arm out of Clay’s tight grasp, pushing engineers out of his way, solely focused on Niki.  
“Niki,” James said breathlessly, putting a hand on Niki’s shoulder, not registering how Niki went rigid under his hand, “what did I-”  
James’ breath caught as Niki looked at him over his shoulder. Only now James registered the bandages over Niki’s head, how unnaturally slick the skin on his forehead looked.. James took a step back as Niki turned to face him fully, his hand dropping away from Niki’s shoulder. James couldn’t help but focus on Niki’s ear, or rather, what was left of it. The skin around the remaining half of it was blackened, slick, and peeling. His forehead was a bloodied mess, a mass of raw skin and scabs. Niki stared at James, his bright blue eyes contrasting against his burned skin. Niki sighed, a tired look on his face, as he pressed his lips into a line.  
“Now you understand why I did not want to see you.” Niki finally said, taking a step towards James. “Because I knew you would look at me just like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> So these were some early drabbles I did when I first got into F1, and now looking back on it, I had a really simplified version of how Senna and Prost got along. Albeit, the second piece was inspired by an anecdote about how Prost apparently chased Senna down and punched him after Senna cut him off in the pervious race. Anyways, I'd be happy to hear any comments and criticisms! Thanks for reading!


End file.
